


Hypnoctober Day 20

by birdginia



Series: Hypnoctober 2018 [20]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Emetophilia, F/M, Force-Feeding, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Torture, Vivisection, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 03:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16508300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdginia/pseuds/birdginia
Summary: (prompt - emeto)There are plenty of uses for a human body, especially one as resilient as Franken Stein's, and unlike a mind, Medusa has plenty of experience in healing it. So she does what one naturally does with a pet: she plays.





	Hypnoctober Day 20

Medusa enjoys having a pet.

It's similar to having a child, she thinks, but Crona was less of a pet than a weapon—something to be tempered and sharpened, molded for a single and distinct purpose. Stein can be molded for her ends as well, but she's also free to relax, to enjoy his company, to simply watch him sit there, stewing in his own madness. A leisure she's never indulged herself in with Crona.

His mind is already as broken as broken can be, but his body—there are plenty of uses for a human body, especially one as resilient as Franken Stein's, and unlike a mind, Medusa has plenty of experience in healing it. So she does what one would naturally do with a pet: she plays.

Putting him on the other end of the dissection he so craves is her first step once things have settled down. He takes to the blade so well, his hands twitching and shaking, his breath coming in fits and starts, until she pulls the wound open, bare-handed, and he laughs, a full belly laugh that sends blood spraying onto her face. It tastes so much like her own.

She enjoys feeding him out of her hand, especially when he hasn't eaten in days—not because she refuses to, but rather because she forgets, and he doesn't remind her. When he finally is hungry, he looks at the food in her hand like it's poisoned, sniffing it like a dog, but when she starts to take it away, he lunges, bites at her palm and sucks at her fingers. She lets him.

She does poison the food occasionally, though. She doesn’t even bother to experiment with new concoctions, but prefers to watch the effects she already knows to expect wrack his body with pain, pleasure, nausea, sleep. He rarely sleeps at all, but when he does—when she makes him—she watches his eyes twitch with nightmares and listens to his pathetic whimpers.

Pushing his body to its very limits is her favorite game. Contorting him into positions that nearly break his bones and tear his flesh and keeping him held there for hours. Cutting him open over and over again, pouring salt and herbs into the wounds and pumping drugs into him to keep him awake, hearing him scream, beg, curse at a tormentor he can't even form a clear image of. 

She likes having her snakes inside him, even if they’ve done enough already and can’t make him any _more_ mad. It's just so satisfying to tear him open and see her sweet ones there, squirming under his skin, claiming him as hers.

Once, she poured hundreds of snakes into him through the roughly inserted feeding tube she shoved down his esophagus, and she watched happily as his stomach grew more swollen and distended with each ounce of liquid and serpent, his eyes rolling back in pain and his breath getting shallower and shallower from the pressure on his lungs.

She wasn't expecting them to last very long inside, but she also wasn't expecting him to be so beautiful when he expelled them, his body convulsing as he vomited up liter after liter until he collapsed, face-first and shaking, into the puddle of acid and saline and wriggling snakes. He’d moan in relief as the tension eased slightly, before his voice would be cut off by another fit of retching and coughing, until he'd feel well enough again to let out a wet sigh, over and over again until only a few snakes remained in what he could hold down.

He could barely speak for a while afterward, unable to even mumble uselessly to himself with the toll it had taken on his throat. She wants to do it again, once he's forgotten how it felt.

But for now, she's content to find new ways to play with her pet doctor. Until he's needed as an attack dog, there's plenty of time and plenty of games.

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter is over at [@Slotheyyyyy](https://twitter.com/Slotheyyyyy). check out my very important thoughts and opinions on fucking, and @ me with any of yours!


End file.
